"So, Napoleon, you are going to tell me your stories now, da?" Illya asked as he bent his head and licked one of the dusky nipples displayed so wantonly before him.
"St-stories, Illyushk—aaAH!" Napoleon gasped, arching off the bed a bit, pressing up against the man straddling his hips.
Illya smiled to himself as his silver-tongued lover was temporarily silenced; the only sounds in the room were the quiet rasp of his own tongue on Napoleon's smooth torso as he followed the edges of nicely-defined muscles and the moans emanating from Napoleon as he strained against the firm clasp Illya had upon his wrists.
Several minutes passed before Napoleon was able to speak again.
"What stories might those be?"
"Of your javelin throwing days, of course," Illya said, biting down gently on the other nipple.
"My j-javelin throwing?"
"Yes, Napoleon. Your javelin throwing stories." Illya shifted his hold on Napoleon's wrists, grasping both with his right hand and placing them above Napoleon's head before moving further down his lover's body to nip at his taut stomach, causing Napoleon to shiver with delight. "The 'personal and intimate' stories you insisted you should tell that feisty Miss Okasada over cocktails, instead of coming home to me."
"Ah, yes, those stories."
"Yes, Napoleon, those stories."
Several more minutes passed before Illya raised his head from delightful contemplation of his lover's navel and flashed a stern look at the man spread out so lusciously below him, before returning to his pursuit of pleasure. "Well?"
"Oh, that's right, you wanted a bedtime story." Just by the tone of voice, Illya could picture the look on Napoleon's face: the slight smirk and the way his eyebrow quirked just so when he was teasing. "Well, once upon a time, there was this devilishly handsome and suave—ow! What'd you do that for?"
Illya soothed the bite mark with several long licks and a light kiss on the afflicted area. "Because, Napoleon, you know that is not the story I have asked you to tell me."
"Ahhh, yes, that's right." Napoleon smiled and closed his eyes again, turning his head slightly to the side to accomodate Illya as he moved up to kiss the mole on Napoleon's jaw and continued on down his neck. "I didn't start practicing with the javelin in college, but you know that, tovarishch."
"Hmmmm, yes, I do," came the muffled reply from somewhere around Napoleon's armpit.
"This terribly handsome foreign man introduced me to the delightful sport in our—oooooh!—spare time."
"Oh come now, Napoleon, you know we never have spare time," Illya scoffed as he changed his grasp on Napoleon, spreading his lover's arms out wide, across the sheets, intertwining their fingers as he shifted against Napoleon, stropping his lithe body along his lover's length like a cat. "Mr. Waverly would never stand for that, except when we are on official holiday."
"Ah, yes, you're right."
"Of course I'm right. I am always right," Illya replied as he shifted again, slightly to the side this time, releasing Napoleon's right hand and slowly thrusting his leg between his lover's thighs, causing Napoleon to bend his knee and move it to the side to allow his lover greater access.
"Hmmm, yes." Napoleon groaned, a long, pleasure-filled sound, as Illya petted him, running tapered fingers over Napoleon's collarbone. Illya smiled slightly as he watched his pale-skinned hand winding its way down his lover's body: skimming the slight bumps of Napoleon's ribs, turning over to brush its back down the soft skin to Napoleon's groin, then gently nudging past turgid genitals to slip underneath as he reached his destination.
"And what have you learned from your javelin lessons, lyubovnik?" Illya asked as he stretched up to nip at an exposed earlobe. He buried his nose in the dark hair behind Napoleon's ear, inhaling the concentrated smell of his lover, a scent which permeated everything Napoleon wore. Illya loved that smell. Sometimes all he had to do was inhale a whiff of Napoleon's after shave and he'd smile inside for the rest of the day.
"What have I learned? Aahhh!" Napoleon shifted his hips up slightly as Illya worked sweat-slicked fingers between his buttocks to massage his opening. "Never underestimate the value of a good novelty item."
That startled a short bark of laughter out of Illya. He rested his forehead against Napoleon's shoulder, continuing to shake with silent laughter as Napoleon's free hand came up to cradle the back of his head. "Oh Polya, you do amuse me."
Napoleon smiled and tugged lightly on the blond mop in his hand, bringing Illya's mouth up to his. "I love you, too, Illyushka."
Illya, still smiling slightly, watched Napoleon's lips for a moment, before he attacked the other man's mouth with renewed fervor, plunging his tongue deep within the moist recesses to tangle with his lover's eager tongue. Illya matched this invasion with the movements of his hand, thrusting two fingers deep inside.
"Mmmmmphh!" Napoleon tore his mouth away and arched off the bed, eyes tightly shut and a look of intense pleasure on his face. "Now—inside!" he gasped.
Illya moved on down Napoleon's neck, kissing his Adam's apple. "Always trying to be the boss, Napoleon." He tsked and nipped below it. "How many times do I need to tell you? It is not allowed here."
Napoleon strained upward. "But—"
"No." Illya covered Napoleon's mouth again, tasting the martini Napoleon had consumed earlier that evening, its essence captured on slightly roughened lips. He hefted himself up so he could reach across Napoleon to fumble blindly on the bedside table for the lubricant he'd laid out, squeezing the contents onto his fingers before returning the hand to its previous location.
"Illya!"
"Yes, lyubovnik, I know. Spread your legs further apart for me."
Napoleon did as ordered and Illya moved slowly between the parted legs, caressing his lover's olive skin with all of his own paler version, reveling in the slip of skin on skin, of nipples dueling for space as he slowly blanketed the body beneath him. He rubbed his cheek against Napoleon's, enjoying the slightly abrasive feel of stubble-rough skin.
Napoleon turned his head, latching on to Illya's ear and sucking hard, biting on it, as if trying to wordlessly spur his lover to get on with it already! Illya felt Napoleon surround his waist in a pincerlike hold, capturing him with knees and legs and feet, pushing up against him, demanding that Illya do something more, that he satisfy Napoleon's needs now.
Illya reached up and grabbed Napoleon's hand, sliding it down their bodies to insinuate them between their tightly-pressed pelvises. He wrapped Napoleon's hand around his erection, covering Napoleon's hand with his own slightly shaking one as he moved to nudge Napoleon's opening with the swollen head.
Napoleon gasped and released Illya's ear, lifting and pushing his hips against Illya, who groaned as he moved forward, relishing the feeling of change between the way Napoleon held him in his hand and the way he held Illya in his tight channel. When Napoleon had taken all of him in, Illya released both hands and planted his on the bed near Napoleon's shoulders, pressing his lower body harder against his lover and lifting his upper body, so he could gaze down at Napoleon.
Illya tilted his head to the side for a moment, watching Napoleon gasp for breath, smiling at the look of concentration on his lover's face. "It is time for another javelin lesson, Polya." Illya pulled his hips back and then thrust sharply forward. "This is the only javelin you will ever need to learn to throw, da?"
"YES!"
"Very good. Now repeat after me," Illya said, punctuating each phrase with another thrust. "I will not share my javelin with strange young Japanese filmmakers, nor with Russian countesses or Spanish flamenco dancers or—"
"Illya!" Napoleon's eyes snapped open and his hands flew up to grab handfuls of Illya's sweaty and very disheveled blond hair. "Not now!"
"Yes, lyubovnik," Illya replied, smiling, and leaned down to kiss Napoleon again, continuing to thrust, gradually gaining speed until he felt Napoleon spasm around him. He felt the warmth spread between their bodies as Napoleon came, and released his own tenuous grasp of control, flooding into his lover's body.
Illya collapsed on top of Napoleon, earning a startled grunt, before sliding to his right side, hooking his left leg over Napoleon's thighs and resting his head on his lover's outflung arm. They lay entangled that way for a few minutes; Illya listened as their breathing returned to normal and felt the frantic racing of their hearts gradually slowing down.
He opened his eyes as he felt Napoleon slowly turn on his side, and smiled as his lover gently brushed the hair off his face. Napoleon leaned in closer to drop a quick kiss on Illya's lips, then moved back and gave him that oh-so-loving and slightly devilish smile, the one Napoleon saved just for him.
Illya raised his eyebrow, wondering what it was Napoleon had to say that warranted that particular smile so soon after being thoroughly loved. Napoleon did not keep him in suspense for long.
"You are so special to me, Illyushka. From first time you said you loved me, I haven't wanted to look at anyone else," Napoleon's mouth quirked, "let alone show them my javelin."
Veronica and I watched a rerun of "The Cherry Blossom Affair" on TNT the other night and have been giggling our fool heads off for days at how non-subtexty the ending scenes were; they were practically text! And I couldn't believe how snarky Illya was throughout the episode. (I've only seen him written in fanfic as incredibly passive or extremely fragile, which the man I saw in this episode certainly is not. Of course, I may be reading the wrong stories; recs are welcome, just don't expect me to agree with you about how wonderful stories are 100% of the time. *g*)
What can I say? The episode inspired me. :) It certainly inspired me enough to get me to finish the story! Which, if you knew how many unfinished stories currently reside on my hard drive, you'd know how much of a miracle it is that I finished this story. *g* (Never fear, Deanna, I'm still working on Guardians—please don't hurt me! *bg* And no comments from the peanut gallery, Tiriel!)
Please let me know if you enjoyed the story; and, as with all my writing, constructive comments are always welcome. (Especially if you speak Russian and my transliteration of "love" is incorrect! It's been about ten years since I studied it and I can't find any of my textbooks.)
Dedicated to my marvelous writing buddy, Veronica; one of the most faboo women on the planet, who finds out answers to important questions like "Does Napoleon have a hairy chest?" and who has achieved her revenge for the sentence "Bodie and Doyle are so adorable!" tenfold. *vbg* Ta, angelfish. ;)
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